As we were not to start for ten days, I went to Christchurch to receive payment for work, and I was anxious to purchase a good saddle horse in place of my big mare, which was too clumsy and heavy for our proposed ride to Otago.  On the day on which I purchased the animal there was an auction sale of walers in the town, and I was sitting on the stockyard rails, looking on, when I saw a jockey riding a powerful bay up and down in front of the stand.  This jockey proved to be an old acquaintance, and although some 60 years of age, was still an excellent rider.  He was a popular little fellow, a character in his way, and was known by the name of “Old Bob.”  I was on the point of speaking to him, when the horse he rode was called for sale, and Bob was desired to show off his paces.  For a turn or two the animal behaved well, and the bidding was brisk, when apparently, without any cause he bucked violently.  I think Bob held on for four or five bucks, then the saddle went forward, and he was shot off, striking the hard road on his head.  He seemed to roll up or double up, or something, and lay still, several people rushed to him, but he was past all help, his skull was split in two.

On my return to Moorhouse’s our preparations were soon completed.  In addition to our saddle horses we selected for pack animals as well as for occasional riding two of the best of the station hacks; one of them carried stores and some cooking utensils, while the other was laden with clothes and blankets.  We travelled lightly, it being our intention to put up at stations or accommodation houses as much as possible till we arrived at our destination.

The route we followed was for the first 150 miles the same as that described in our journey to the diggings.  We moved much faster and in six days reached Miller and Gooche’s, the former of whom was now on the station.  McGregor Miller was one of the finest men I had seen, a Hercules in strength and build, and as jolly and hospitable as he was a perfect gentleman.  We stayed two days with him.  The station as well as the country presented very different aspects to what they did on my previous visit.  A new house had been built and furnished comfortably, and the surroundings were fast being improved under the guiding hand of the “boss,” who worked with his men as one of themselves, and easy-going fox-hunting squire as he was in the old country a couple of years since, he could handle an axe, spade, or shovel with the best of them.

On the first day’s ride from here we went over the Lindis Pass, the scene of so much hardship to us diggers, and on to McClean’s station, where we received a hearty Scotch welcome and an excellent dinner, and sat up late with the old gentleman discussing whiskey toddy and chatting over old times.  The Moorhouses and McCleans were old friends, and had been together in Australia on the diggings many years before.  He was not, I recollect, much impressed with Moorhouse’s speculation, but as he had a run at the south of the Wanaka and a homestead there he arranged for our reception and for a boat to take us a portion of the voyage up the lake.